


In The Name Of Redemption, There Is Only Red

by Just_A_Random_Writer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, F/M, Max Honor Arthur Morgan, Sexual Themes and Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Random_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Random_Writer
Summary: The heist at Saint Denis unfolds and it succeeds, leading part of the gang to split up once in paradise. Now the hardest part of living for Arthur is deciding on how he wants to live for the rest of his life. Albeit with a significant other if he ever finds the time to have another intimate relationship with a person who isn't Mary Linton. However, conclusions are drawn and Arthur is brought back to his old ways in order to redeem himself for the better good and to right his wrongs. It's all up to him when disaster is all that concedes.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	In The Name Of Redemption, There Is Only Red

_**"BANKING, THE OLD AMERICAN ART"** _   
_**Chapter 1** _

_**** _

* * *

"I'm telling you Dutch, this is the way to do this job."

I hear Hosea say in the room adjacent to the kitchen I'm in as I pack my provisions I supplied in there previously. I eavesdrop on them as I place the resources into my satchel.

"The distraction'll buy you all time you need." I hear an elongated sigh coming from Dutch.

"I... don't like it..." he says, each word taking pauses in between to emphasize his point. I hear another sigh, this time coming from Hosea. "It's the right plan. We've done the work. I've been in town, looking... watching and... waiting, I've, I've... I've tested it as well as I can. It's the right plan." Hosea's tone switched to show question to Dutch's lack of seriousness. Dutch must've noticed, because he gives a hearty laugh.

"I know! I just..." Dutch laughs wryly again. "Well, between you and me, I'm... nervous, I suppose, I suppose that's it."

"You're never nervous, that's been my job all these years."

"I know."

They both let out puffs of air. I shake my head. The infamous outlaw, gang leader, ruthless and unforgiving killer Dutch van der Linde was afraid. For the first and last time in... forever. It's awfully deviating behavior for a man who usually shows valiance and pride where no one else can.

_How strange._

Dutch sighs.

"You're sure?" he asks. "Certain. Well, not certain it will be done, but certain it can be done. And certain this is the only way I see we can do it. I've timed it out more than once." Hosea says, nodding.

"Well, you're the expert." Dutch finally says. I figure that's when I should head in. I stumble towards the room they're in and nod at them. They nod back. There's a warm fire blazing in unruly unrest in the furnace besides them. "That I am, Dutch. Like you've always said, we just need some faith."

"Gentlemen." I say. Dutch takes a glimpse at me before looking back at the map. "Arthur." he says to acknowledge me.

"Look, the bank." Hosea pipes up, allowing myself to sit and be briefed on the setup. "Karen, Tilly, Abigail, I sent them all. They all say the same thing. There's no more than one armed guard. And the police... it's a city, there are police, but as far as we can tell... the patrols will all be going this way." Hosea motions on the map to show positions that I focus my eyes on. "When Abigail and I cause the diversion... that's the opportunity—" Dutch cuts him off.

"What do you think, Arthur?" they both settle themselves at me and I feel slight anxiety at the fact they're finalizing their plan on my behalf.

"Well, I don't see we have a lot of choice. We linger around here, we know we're dead." I say. Dutch moves his eyes to Hosea who rolls his eyes at the movement.

"But the plan?" Dutch asks. I clap my hands together. "We got a decent bunch. We know how to fight. Those city cops don't seem so tough. As long as we move fast. I reckon doing it in the day with a distraction. Besides, if that's what Hosea's sayin', it's a good a plan as any." Dutch stutters at my agreement and I hold back a eyebrow twitch.

"I, I think I agree." Dutch says. Hosea places his hands on his waist. "And we do it at night, and there's the drama of just getting into the bank. Can't do that silently. They'll pick us of far easier."

"I know, I'm... I'm just making sure." Dutch says. "Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we had was because we did not... execute... properly." with each pause Hosea made, he hit the table with the palm of his hand.

"Even Blackwater from my understanding." Dutch nods. "You're right." Dutch stands up to Hosea and so do I. We all give a glare at the map and nod in orderly fashion. Dutch moves to pat the map's circled bank layout.

_"Let's rob this bastard."_

Me and Hosea exchange looks of appreciation to Dutch and he smiles. "Everyone get some rest. We ride out in the morning. Look smart, travel light."

Dutch strolls out with his spurs clanking against the floor and I follow, Hosea staying behind checking the map once more for confirmation.

* * *

"You are one ugly bastard." I whisper to myself in my room. My silky blonde hair simmers on my shoulder, dangling on it. It was rather lengthy—I hadn't paid attention to the growing beard ever since the tense raid a month ago on Bronte's.

_Where Dutch drowned him._

I wrestle my cleanest clothing on—that of the riverboat heist I was accompanied on by Trelawny, Javier and Strauss. It's a bittersweet memory, to say the least. The outfit consisted of a blue opulent vest, a puffy blue tie, a grey suit jacket and black pants. Nice as it looked, it still smelt of something odd and moldy. Sea water still wretched the suit faintly. I bring up my gunbelt along with my two Cattleman's and a packet of high velocity ammo. As I'm about to head out, I hear a knock at the door. A rhythmic one. Eyebrows risen, I walk over to my window and whip the curtains to the side first. The air blooms on my face. I smile and walk back to the door to open it up. It's John. John Marston.

"Hey." he says. I nod. He's wearing about the same outfit yet it's different in certain aspects—he wore a top hat and a amethyst colored tie instead.

"What're you doin' right now?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders. "Just puttin' on some clothes. You're bright today." I say. He smirks.

"That I am, Mr. Morgan."

"Well, then. Why?" I ask. His eye flickers for a second, his smirk falling to a frown of embarrassment. "I, uh... y'know, you've done it before, right?"

I look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He opens his mouth but closes it to administer some thoughts for a moment. Then he answers. "You've proposed before, right?" he dips his head down. And I let out a bellowing laugh. He scrunches up his face.

"What?"

"I understand where you're getting up to with this, Marston. And I support it. But it's hilarious." I say. He looks to the side.

"Of course you're here to embarrass me. Of course." I tap my forehead.

"John, how are we supposed to treat you otherwise with the bullshit you've caused recently?" I ask, John glaring at me angrily. "Bullshit? Sure. What about Micah? That... prick." I look to the side at that inquisition and shake my head.

"He's an ass. But as much as I hate to say it, he's new. Yet you've been here for twenty years. By living through blood, sweet and tears, you've become a senior head of the gang. Instead, you disregard that, and now you're just hunting for more reasons to flee." John looks at me this time with a hard expression. I can tell he's processing things up there. "Don't talk to me about that anymore, will you?" I sigh, but decide to lay off on the topic. I could tell his temper boiled with my demeanor. At the moment, his relationship with Abigail was unsteady. And although they were married and were in questionable love, most nights were of arguments. Arguments of only vitriol and despise for one another. So I'd hate to see what he'd throw at me, someone he barely knows enough to entrust his own life with.

"Then don't do something as drastic as that then, you daft fool. You'll only win Abigail over if you're prepared to. And you're obviously not. With the way you've been handling this situation, I wouldn't be surprised if the poor woman left you. She won't accept anything from you if you aren't acting rightly so that way." this time he faces my way and melodramatically waves me off. "Sure, Arthur. Sure." I nod at him and lean over to pat his shoulder ever so awkwardly.

"Look, she saw somethin' within you that she couldn't with the other folks. I'm just sayin', don't waste your potential to have a future when this... this, this gang... is gone."

John registers my words carefully, staring at me intently for a moment.

"It won't be long now. I can tell it's not just me who's thinkin' about it."

"We're in the same boat, then."

"First time we agreed on somethin', then. And the last, depending on whether or not you're leavin' after this."

"Look, I just came here to ask about how to propose. After this "final" heist, our expedition will lead us to... somewhere. And after _that_ , I don't know what'll happen. What I do know is that me and my family will be gettin' the hell out of here after that mess."

"We are your family, John."

"You know what I mean."

I sigh.

"Why do you need to "propose", anyways? Ain't you married already?" John puts his hand on the doorframe, leaning on it. Dust disperses out at the contact and he immediately contracts his hand. "Sure. But she deserves better. A lot better. Better than me." I look at him carefully. "That she does. Well, she deserves better than to put up with this gang of fools. Y'know, at times like this, I wonder. I sometimes think of how we're just... we're more ghosts than people." John's eyes flick to mine and he closes them. He lets out a breath of air then responds. "We are, aren't we." I realize he says this as more of a statement than as a question. I hadn't seen John act so introspectively before and just agreeing to something so spiritual. Agreeing with me was like bargaining with the devil to him.

"Well, either way, I wouldn't know what to say. What to start with. I have a lot on my mind right now. This ain't exactly on my train of thought." I say. John side eyes me. "Sure you do. Seen you leaving to see that girl of yours." I narrow my eyes at him. "For one thing, I ain't even with her. And for another, how exactly do you know about that?" he steps back.

"Girls told me. They read your mail."

"You didn't tell them to stop?"

"No, Arthur, I couldn't. And besides, that was a bit of time ago."

I wiped my stubble, thinking.

"Fine, whatever. That don't matter now."

"Well, what _does_ matter to you?"

I shrug at him.

"Well... if it's tips you're lookin' for, then..."

Tips in general weren't quite easy for me to muster up as I'm more of a man of action rather than a philosopher, as inward as I was when I wrote in my journal.

"Didn't take you to be the romantic type for starters." I boast. A laugh erupts from him. I sigh and recollect myself. "I suppose you could ride out to the local town. Maybe you could take a photo of you both and then head out on a raft to sea to propose under the sun? It's what I did with Mary, so long ago." I say. John turns the other way, frowning.

"Linton, right? I think I remember when you took her to camp?" he asks. I nod. I adjust my stance to revoke my disgust at the mention of her name. Whom to me, at this point, was godforsaken. I wanted to forget so badly, but she... she was different. I almost just couldn't resist my compassion for her. Temptation overwhelmed me.

"Oh." he seems to understand my body language and awkwardly coughs to extinguish the conversation's dark turn.

"Don't worry about it, it didn't bring up any unpleasant memories."

"I hope not." I sense a blush on his face as I hold my hand out to direct him down the hallway. "No problem. I ain't a teacher, but you'll find your way without needing to be taught. It'll be your _redemption_." he nods, and he leaves. Closing the door, I remember to take my gambler hat as apart of my mementos. Placing it on my head soddened with pomade, I leave, following Marston.

* * *

I burst outside, sealing the double doors and entering the illustrious shaded and mossy area of Shady Belle. I can see the camp being currently packed up, Miss Grimshaw giving spite to the working ladies for their work. Sadie and Simon were packaging the resources and were working to salvage the camp to pack onto a wagon whilst us other men were working to conduct the heist at Saint Denis. In front of the porch, John and Abigail give their regards to the camp members staying to help in recovering the camp's pieces. The rest of us participating in the job prepare our gear. I move down the narrow trail leading to the carriage where Hosea, Abigail and Lenny were boarding and another carriage which Bill and Charles were on too alongside it. There, the other members following on the heist were gathered on horses.

"You got everything, Arthur?" I here Dutch say in the distance, tethered on The Count. "Sure." I say, rubbing my sleeves as I walk. Hosea speaks up.

"So... we rob ourselves a bank... and within six weeks... we're living life anew in a tropical idyll spending our last days as banana farmers?"

"Seems about so!" Bill says, clambering onto his horse Brown Jack as he shouts.

"Let's get out of this godforsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!" Hosea proudly announces, as he spurs the horse carriage with the ropes. Abigail hoots and we follow suit, Hosea splitting off the path away from the rest of us. Dutch and Micah lead the way as we pave through the wildlands, progressing through near the crops of Caliga Hall. "This is it, gentlemen. The last one." Dutch calls.

"Where have I heard that before?" John yells, grabbing everyone's present attention.

"What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart." Dutch says. "I'm just trying to stay real about all this."

"Oh, how I detest that word. _"Real"_. So devoid of imagination."

Bill clicks his tongue. "How soon we shipping out?"

"Soon as we get a passage organized." Dutch fills in, baring his eyes at John's wariness. "Boat down to Argentina and another around the cape."

"What about that money in Blackwater? We're just gonna leave that behind?" Micah inquires. Dutch shakes his head. "Forget that, it's gone. You all talk as if it's the only goddamn money in the world. We're gonna take that and more, take it from the people that take it from us. This isn't some hick town, hundred dollar operation. This is a big city bank!" John rubs his shoulder blade.

"Right. With security, guards, police." John says over him. Dutch emits a loud groan. "Hosea's done his reconnaissance, we've been over this. The plan, one last time." his breath dawdles. "Hosea and Abigail draw out the police, we go in calm and fast. John and Arthur, secure the front doors. Javier takes the side exit. Bill and Charles, on crowd control. Me and Micah will deal with the vault manager and the safes."

The plan is met with acclaim and we applaud it acknowledging him. "Good. Alright, that's enough talk. _Let's get this done_."

* * *

"There's Bill. Let's hitch up here."

Outside the Lemoyne National Bank, we wandered the outer terrace to avoid arousing suspicion. We came across Bill and Charles on their carriage parked near a hitching post, whom split off the main path towards the bank. When we hitched on the posts lined up on the side walk, we jumped off and made our way to the rest of the gang on the road opposite to the bank's entrance. Hosea, Abigail and Lenny were distracting the bank hosts and security in order to allow for a clean escape, whilst the rest of us men raided the bank and it's vault. We'd then all escape through back to Shady Belle.

"Gentlemen... robbing thieves, it ain't no crime at all. Folk like this... they stole what this country could have been. Stay cool, fellers. Act natural. Wait for Hosea to do his thing." Dutch instructed, waving his hand around.

"This, this'd better work." Micah said, rolling up his sleeves. John equipped a Cattleman from his horse, holstering it. He walked steadily towards us.

"Looks like there's law over on the other side."

"Have a modicum of faith, John, will you please?" Dutch says. Micah eyes John and Bill nudges him. "Soon as we get out, load everything onto the wagon here." smoke then flared into the thin air as an explosion occurred in a town district further down the road. Dutch let out a course laugh.

"I love that Hosea! He's a true artist!" it was our cue to brandish our bandanas and masks and unholster our weapons as we marched down the road towards the entrance where numerous patrons inside the bank could be seen shaking in uncertainty. We wrapped the wall waiting for the motion to enter. "Gentlemen! Let's _go_!" Dutch flicked the doors open with the rest of us huddled up against him, holding our weapons up into the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a hold up. Don't do nothing stupid!" Dutch barked, his order forming panic in the crowd before our eyes. Micah gave a chortle and shoved a patron to the ground while I hung back and watched the crowd, aiming my weapon at them. "Get in! Get in the damn room!" Bill opened two double doors leading into a room next to the circular table in the middle and then I told the civilians to get into. Bill then grasped a piece of worn rope from his pocket and slung it across the door handles to hold captive. A man in a suit with a sign plastered on his breast pocket read "Bank Teller" and immediately stammered to the man and grappled him.

"Who do you think you are?" I said to him. He widened his jaw to have a cruel expression of fear. "I'm just the bank teller, sir! I'm not the manager!" he shrieked. I grumbled and chucked him towards the ground.

"Ain't that the same thing, you goddamn liar?" I yell and grab his neck to give him a punch. He whimpers and I don't hold back as I punch him with a clenched fist. It's then when John comes up behind me.

"Arthur, Arthur, christ. We have the manager. Don't lose your shit yet!" he says to me. I touch the bridge of my nose beneath the bandana and shove the teller to the ground. The manager appears beside me in expectation of what I'll say next. "Aren't you gonna say something?" the manager says. I turn and look at him. He's a small guy with a suit much like mine, with black hair and a pencil mustache. He leans on the wall.

"John, deal with the teller." I ask. He complies and grabs the man. "Arthur, would you please have Señor Bank Manager here open up the vault?" Dutch says while standing in the corner scouting for lawmen or passerby's. I nod at him and grab the stout man, taking him to the deposit room's front door.

"Mister, I'd appreciate if you'd open up the door." I say to the man. He nods repeatedly and slumbers to the door without saying anything. Minutes of clicking go by, but eventually the door opens. "Move out of the damn way!" I say to him. I grab him and throw him to Bill, who speaks to him quietly. From the tone, it sounds especially aggressive for that one man. "Micah, Dutch. Here's your cue."

They fumble by and I walk back to the entrance of the bank to meet John, who peaks in between the doors every second to check. Javier controlled the side exit and Bill was crouched underneath on my left. Charles was on my right.

"Let's clear this out. Forget all the drawers, just get those safes open." Dutch says to Micah in the vault, an echo trembling among the room.

"I need the combination for the safes! Unless we want to alert the law?" Micah yelled. Bill shook his head. "Tell him the combination... come on... speak..." the manager didn't say anything. "Speak or die... now! First number!" the manager's lips shaking, he finally spoke.

"Nineteen."

A click could be heard from within the vault.

"Got it." Micah said.

"Okay now, what's the second number?"

"Seventy-two."

Another click.

"Alright, should be one more number." Micah said again.

"Last number! Come on!"

"Fifty-four!"

"You get that, Mister B?"

Then there was the final click.

"I got it! Now stop screamin'."

"Both of you, stop it!" Dutch's hollow voice followed a grim laugh. "What did I tell you? Would you look at that..." the clank of the door of one of the safes shook the room. Dutch then came out of the room clasping a bag of goods, a huge brick poking out at the bottom. "Arthur, we need your help. Rest of you, continue watching the streets, we're doing well! It's a good take!"

I nod and then trail Dutch into the vault. "Dutch, what do you need help with?"

"Son, I need your help with opening the deposits boxes. If we bide our time correctly, we may be able to achieve a larger cut. But we don't have to do that. We can leave now. It's up to you, Arthur."

I look at Dutch and walk to the deposit box beside one of the safes. "I'll work on these boxes. You and Micah work on opening the safes and then after that, you can help me." as my gruff voice sounded through my bandana, Dutch nodded. "Micah, help me with extracting information from Señor Bank Manager here."

Minutes passed with constant tinkering of the safe's switch and the tremble of the manager's voice. Each safe in the room opened, revealing more valuables. Eventually each was robbed without a single word from each of the gang members outside of the vault.

"Arthur, we're done here. Do you need help?" Dutch asked. I look up at him and he's shrugging.

"Sure."

Micah and Dutch get to work on each, cracking them open to help. Before their help, I was about half way done, so I supposed I would be fine in getting help. As we're about to unlock the next batch of deposit boxes, Bill yells from the front court.

"HEY! Dutch, we have trouble!"

Dutch immediately recoiled from his lockpicking and drew his customized Schofield. He then walked back outside.

"Micah, you stay here. Continue with this. I'll be back." I say to Micah. He frowns, but his mustache hides his mouth. I slide back into the other room and crouch under the window sill where Dutch and John spy. There, I peek outside the window to see the Pinkertons in their iconic red uniforms line the streets. Up upon the wall of a building on a foyer, Pinkerton agents aim numerous weapons at us. A wagon on the checkered brick pane road before us hid a familiar face. And a hat with red lining appeared just above it. Slowly, the man from behind approached with a Cattleman Revolver, aiming at the windows.

"Dutch! Get out here, now!" the man, who was thought to be bearing the resemblance of a known enemy, had finally shown up. It was Jim Milton. "Someone must've squealed." Dutch whispered. Micah slid from the midst of the vault and scowled at the sight of Pinkertons outside. He unholstered his weapons as I did.

"We should've never gone for Bronte, Dutch." John said, scratching his forehead. "Shit! Abigail..." he then says.

"Mr. Milton," Dutch cleared his throat, "let my men go... or folks, they are gonna get shot unnecessarily!" Milton then let out a snicker, cracking a fearsome grin. "Your men? Now why would I do that?" he says. Dutch tapped the barrel of the gun against his wrinkled cheek. "Come on, Milton..." 

"It's over!" Milton shouts, making gestures with his gun in the air. "No more bargains, no more deals."

"Mr. Milton! This is America, you can always cut a deal!"

"I've given you enough chances! Every single one I provided was declined. It was only a matter of time."

"Oh, Mr. Milton..."

As Milton's ramble persisted, Dutch beckoned to me, hushed.

"Arthur. I have a plan."

I took one glance at him and growled.

"Arthur, listen to me. Just listen. Take..." Dutch leered back at Javier. Javier returned the look and sighed before grabbing his Carbine Repeater and pushing it across the glazed flooring. I took it, then holstered it. "This gun. I know you're best with a rifle. Now just take your position here..." Dutch motioned to his current spot and I nodded. Then he turned back to the others and spoke in a quiet tone that was still quite loud enough for the rest to hear.

"Alright, all of you. Listen. I'm just gonna get out there with a hostage and aim a gun at their head. Everyone else, just try to shoot first."

He crouches and then steps back to the room where the hostages were. He looks back to us and I suppose he sees some concerned faces because he smiles in disgruntlement, as if trying to give false hope. We all just nod at him. Slowly, he unfolds the tied rope on the door knobs of the double door room and enters nonchalantly. Angry speech can be heard from inside that room and Dutch exits with the bank teller from before. His arm knotted around the man's neck, he holds his Schofield so the barrel hits the teller's temple. Cautiously, Dutch cracked the doors open a inch.

"Mr. Van der Linde? Are you there?"

"Mr. Milton! I'm coming out, right now! But I do have a peace offering to, ah, exchange, I suppose." Dutch then leaves, breaking through the doors.

I look out the window and Milton is completely confused. He didn't expect this. Shaking his head, he aims the revolver back at Dutch.

"Ah, I see you still haven't lost your sense of humor along with your mentality."

"Never, Agent Moron." Milton flinches at the name-calling. "Dutch, I can assure the rest of your gang will have time to leave as long as you come with me. I'll give them a few days to leave and live a proper life."

"A proper life? Proper? Will it be like that forever?"

"It will be. Your bounty alone pays for them."

"If so... then I'll gladly go with you."

We take this as the signal to attack and raise our firearms up, firing lead into the following Pinkertons. Their reactions spark into shock as the agents in the open run to cover in an effort to escape our gunfire. Dutch throws the hostage to the Pinkertons and reenters the bank. He pulls out his other Schofield to dual wield and fires with us outside. Gunfire spurs in many directions as the Pinkertons fall.

"Dutch, you okay?!" I yell. He nods as I fire back another round.

"I'm fine, son! Jesus!"

"What happened to the others?"

"The others?!"

"Hosea and Lenny?"

"Abigail?!" John yelled. Dutch looked back at him amidst the ongoing chaos. "I didn't see 'em, John! They aren't there! Must've escaped and gotten back to the safehouse!"

The Pinkerton's rain of bullets hail on the bank as much as ours on them as we speak through bristled tones.

"Dutch, we need to get the hell out of here!" I yell as I rechamber another cartridge of ammo. "Shit! Okay, here!" Dutch pulls out a ribbon of dynamite stored in his bag and passes it to me. He points to the wall on the far side which I maneuver to, trying to avoid gun fire on the way. He pulled back to the middle desk and reassuringly nodded at me. Returning fire as I ran, I strap the explosive to the wall and then sprint back to the Dutch.

"Hold on, fellers!"

I fire my Cattleman at the bomb and it explodes, unleashing bits of debris in my direction. I duck under the middle desk, a bloom of dust encasing the environment. When I stand, I sight the incineration of the wall and the reddened pieces of brick that have collapsed. The dust settles on the bricks of the now shattered wall and I can see an alleyway's wall opposite of me. There I saw a ladder strapped to the wall.

"Dutch! There's a ladder!" I say to Dutch, who's firing hot lead at the Pinkertons.

"Shit! Everyone, we need to LEAVE!" Dutch yells, seeing the opportunity to leave now under the stress of the brooding shrapnel suppressing us. We all struggle to escape to wherever the wall imploded on as the bullets swerve us off path and force us to crawl. When we finally make it out, Javier taps me on the shoulder and I pass back the Carbine. Nodding, he climbs up the ladder we found, as do I and the rest of the gang. When we reach the roofing, Javier is there, clipping to the wall in pain, firing back at the enemy.

_He was shot._

Blood simply circled a nasty hole on his right leg that embraced him as he crumpled into himself. He's screaming.

"Shit, Javier's been shot," I say, bracing on a wooden sign set on the roof. The rest of the members cover me as me and John tend to Javier's ugly wound. John acquires a fresh bandage from his pouch in his jacket and wraps it tightly on Javier. "Dutch, what do we do now?" I ask, frowning at the still body of Javier. Dutch wrinkles his nose subtly.

"Is Javier fine?" he asks, ignoring my question. John shrugs. "He should be fine. We were prepared; these bandages I had did help." Dutch nods.

"Alright, then! Lift him up quickly. Let's go!" John picks Javier up by the shoulder and I accompany him by doing the same at Javier's side. We sprung across the rooftops in a blur, watching the other fellow gang members lag behind and lay fire on the enemy. I barely kept up as Dutch and Micah led the way. We made hasty pursuit over the buildings as sprawling pedestrians and armed lawmen hung along the downtown roads below. We eventually found one spot on the slope of a house where unoccupied apartment rooms could be found opened and abandoned. Dutch, in a hurry, took the initiative as always and broke into one of the rooms open by a single wooden plank, with the rest of us following.

"Everyone, get in. This one's fine." we all enter this apartment that Dutch has uncovered and he locks back the plank in place. The room we were in was obscured from daylight and seemed to have an aroma of silence completely surrounding it. The apartment was heavily deprecated by neglected maintenance, which made for a perfect hideout in the meantime before we could return to the main headquarters in Shady Belle that the others must've returned to sometime after the distraction's occurrence. But that was blind wishful thinking; and there was no affirmative leads to the separated gang's location. We could only wonder.

We wandered the rooms in the apartment until we found one that seemed to be a living room of sorts with a fireplace and a batch of neatly placed wood blocks stacked beside it. Once we set our arsenal aside on the floor and stood by Dutch, he spoke up.

"Is Javier fine?"

John fiddled with the bristles of his stubble and wrinkled his nose.

"Sure, I suppose. He's unconscious. As long as we keep an eye on him, he'll be fine." Dutch nodded at him. "Nice work. It seems that, without the mention of Javier, we've successfully done the heist!" we would've applauded that then, had it not been for the men in the streets below that surveyed the area. For us. Unusually so, we'd just escaped death. Like many times before this. But I felt sluggish by the luck we had been acquiring recently. This isn't how it usually goes. Why were we able to escape so easily?

It was ludicrous. I thought about it for a while as Dutch and the rest of the gang ranted and appraised our winnings. But in the end, I shook my head. It doesn't matter now. Now, the only problem was to escape the area without attracting unwanted attention. And eventually we'll be in Tahiti, or wherever. Maybe I was just nervous and paranoid. But hell, if anything, I'm just being aware. I owe that to myself, as much as I owe it to Dutch, too. I was stuck in my thoughts for a while then, I think, because Bill, of all people, came up to me and held a bill bottle upright in front of me. His hand was shaking from his drunkenness, so I grab the bottle quickly and thank him. He walks back to the rest of the gang which was now celebrating loudly in the middle of the room. The chimney fire burned wildly thanks to the help of John which offered a strong odor into the household. Happy laughs rose from the fools as they toasted to the success of our heist. So I rise to join them and walk to the gang, doing my damndest to stay awake during the highest hours of our hangover.

* * *

"This seems like a humble enough abode." I said to Dutch. He nodded. "It is. But we'll be leaving soon to Shady Belle, ain't no time to adjust to this place. Javier patched up yet?" he asks. I squint my eyes at the sky through the large cracks of the plank. 

"He's fine and dandy. He's woken up and conscious now. They shouldn't have to matter to you; leave it to us. We'll take care of him."

"Of course."

John then came up behind us, holding a Bolt-Action. "What are you "fine gentlemen" doing here?" I chuckle and gesture to me and Dutch. He walks over, his boots clacking on the cold wooden floor.

"We're just discussing our various business decisions," Dutch said while sniffing, "and we were just about to ask the rest of the gang. Why, is there a problem?" John prodded the ground. "Maybe. I wasn't gonna say anything as I thought you would've already known of the situation. Them Pinkertons and the law are rolling down the streets. Are you sure we should leave tonight?" Dutch cracked his neck to the left.

"Positive. Follow me and we'll get through this." Dutch says, his tone low. John then turns to me and shrugs out of the blue. Dutch must've noticed because he sneers at John before leaving us to view the shaded orange sky.

"Hell was that about?" I ask. He rolls his eyes and places the Bolt-Action rifle over his shoulder before speaking.

"What you mean?"

"The shrug." he rolls his eyes again.

"Oh, that? Look, if I told you... you wouldn't like anything about it."

"You've got nothing to lose except my patience."

"You'll lose it immediately then. I've seen what you can do when your hands are already dirty and it damn well frightens me."

"Sure. The fearless and heinous outlaw John Marston is afraid of a man who's holding onto nothin' more than a journal and his wits." John nods. "Well, when you put it that way..." he sighs. "Sit down, take a seat. Take a bear. You'll enjoy the little trip you have with me telling you how me and Dutch ain't on the best of terms at the moment."

"Can't be as bad as hearing anymore of Micah's bickering."

"Exactly. Maybe we are more alike than we once thought."

"Maybe so. But I'm still waiting for your redemption at some point."

"So am I, Arthur. So am I."

"To be honest, John; time scares me more than the Pinkertons or the law ever will. Because you never know how much time you still have left."


End file.
